


to keep the light from passing through

by peacefrog



Series: what shall be (shall be enough) [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How does God feel about this?” Will unbuckles himself, turning to look Hannibal in the eye. “His house in ruins.”</p><p>“God has many houses,” Hannibal says, hint of a smile on his lips. “The number ever-growing. When one crumbles, 10 more rise up to take its place.”</p><p>“More houses, more power.”</p><p>“No,” Hannibal corrects. “Power cannot be measured. Only felt.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	to keep the light from passing through

_You raised your hand to your face as if_  
_to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light_  
_streamed straight to the bone,_  
_as if you were the small room closed in glass_  
_with every speck of dust illuminated._  
_—Richard Siken_

—

They meet many new people in town, all of them the same. Tourists passing through from every corner of the world, with their shiny faces and sun scorched skin, swarming the bars like flies. Hannibal stares at two men shouting in the street, distaste pouring off of him in waves.

“It’s been a long time,” Will says, shoulder knocking against Hannibal’s as they navigate their way back to the car. “Do you miss it?”

“I miss the ritual,” Hannibal says. “The act of creation, transformation.”

“Do you miss the taste?”

Hannibal is silent for a moment, footfalls echoing off the pavement. “Do you?” he asks, finally.

The question catches Will off guard. “I hadn’t really considered it,” he says, “I don’t think so. I don’t really recall the taste.”

They don’t speak again until they reach the car, Hannibal sliding into the driver’s seat, Will buckling up beside him. 

Will reaches over and rests his hand on Hannibal’s thigh. “Take me somewhere,” he says.

They drive until they’re in a part of the city where the lights no longer reach. On the corner sits a dilapidated church, overgrown with green. Moonlight streams through the crooked steeple, only half visible where it sinks into the roof. Hannibal parks the car beside it.

“One for your collection?” Will asks, looking over at Hannibal’s shadow-sunken face.

“I doubt anyone was inside for the collapse.”

“How does God feel about this?” Will unbuckles himself, turning to look Hannibal in the eye. “His house in ruins.”

“God has many houses,” Hannibal says, hint of a smile on his lips. “The number ever-growing. When one crumbles, 10 more rise up to take its place.”

“More houses, more power.”

“No,” Hannibal corrects. “Power cannot be measured. Only felt.”

“We met some interesting people tonight,” Will says, gazing at the church, the way the rotten roof beams stick out into the night like thorns. “Some of them very... discourteous. And I just kept thinking how much you would like to take their lives away from them, and how much I…” Will pauses, trying to find the words. “You and I have different motivations.”

“Killing for you has never been an act of premeditation,,” Hannibal reminds him. “You have only ever killed out of necessity. Self defense and seeking out a victim are quite different.”

“I know what... _this_ means for you,” Will says. “But I’m still trying to work out exactly what it means for me. What it means for us.”

“If you’re trying to chase the high of killing Francis Dolarhyde,” Hannibal says. “Don’t.”

“Give me a little credit, Hannibal. I know, whatever happens, it’s not going to be the same.”

“And it doesn’t have to be.” Hannibal reaches over to stroke Will’s cheek, fingers dragging against his beard. “Being truly intimate with your instincts should be a profound and unique experience each time. Looking back is of no more use to you than these ruins are to God.”

Will presses a kiss to Hannibal’s palm, leaning into the touch. “Come with me,” he says, forcing himself to pull away and open the passenger door. He hops into the backseat, Hannibal staring at him from behind the steering wheel.

“Come on,” Will insists. 

Finally, Hannibal moves. “Didn’t get enough of this in high school?” he asks, Will crawling into his lap the moment the door clicks shut.

“I never did this in high school.” Will laughs against Hannibal’s lips. “Certainly not in the junker I was driving.”

Will moans into Hannibal’s mouth, the two of them kissing like time has trickled to an end. Like nothing exists before or after the two of them alone, fogging up the windows of Hannibal’s Bentley. Hannibal creeps his hand up Will’s thigh, groping at the front of his slacks. Will pushes his hand away.

“Let me,” Will breathes out. “Just let me.”

He falls out of Hannibal’s lap and onto the seat beside him, reaching down to fumble with Hannibal’s belt. It takes both of them to work the buckle loose, but Will makes quick work of his fly once it’s out of the way. With Hannibal’s pants shoved down around his knees, Will wastes no time falling down into his lap.

“You’ve never done this,” Hannibal says, threading his fingers in Will’s curls. “Not all the way.”

“Because you never let me,” Will reminds him, wrapping his hand around Hannibal’s shaft, angling it toward his lips. “All you ever want to do is please me.”

“Pleasing you pleases me.”

“Right now I just need to do this,” Will insists. “Okay?”

Hannibal groans as Will takes the tip of his cock into his mouth, slipping his tongue between the head and foreskin, lapping at the precome that has gathered there. He exposes the head of him completely, slurping obscenely, and Hannibal thrusts up into his mouth. Will gags and pulls away the moment it nudges into his throat.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Hannibal huffs out. “You make me forget myself.”

“Do it again,” Will says, wrapping his lips around Hannibal once more. 

The angle is all wrong, half in Hannibal’s lap, half hanging off the seat, a dull ache creeping up his neck, muscles on fire. He welcomes the pain like a blessing. Hannibal pushes his head down, cock thrusting into his throat. He sputters around the intrusion, spit dribbling down his chin.

After Will gags one last time, Hannibal angles himself so his cock slides into the pocket of Will’s cheek with each small thrust. Will wants to protest, wants to feel the tears pricking his eyes as he tries to take Hannibal in the same manner Hannibal so easily takes him, but he can feel Hannibal’s balls drawing tight in his hand, and he knows he’s not going to last long.

“ _Oh_ , my dear boy,” Hannibal practically sobs, giving one last thrust before he is coming in hot spurts that coat Will’s tongue and drip from the corners of his mouth.

 _I am anointed_ , is all Will can think as he runs his fingers around his lips, swallowing every last drop of Hannibal down. Hannibal reaches for him again, trying to get at his belt.

“Take me home,” Will says, the church a looming shadow in his periphery. “You can have me there. In our bed.”

—

Their bodies lie still in the glow of the bedside lamp, tangled in a mess of sheets. Hannibal is settled in between Will’s legs, nosing at his inner thigh, seemingly set on sucking him off for a third time in as many hours.

“Haven’t you had enough?” Will mumbles, lazily stroking through Hannibal’s hair. 

“Never,” Hannibal says. “Sometimes it feels this is all I need anymore to sustain me.”

“I can’t get it up again,” Will laughs, tugging at Hannibal’s arm. “Come here. I’m getting cold.”

Hannibal pulls himself up to lie next to Will, their bodies locking together like cogs. Hannibal is so warm. Will presses his ear to Hannibal’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“You’re in love with me,” Will says plainly. It is not a revelation.

“Yes.”

“I’m in love with you, too.” Will’s fingers drag against the greying hair of Hannibal’s chest. “For a long time I wasn’t sure. So hard to separate myself from you.”

“But now you know.”

“Now I know.”

Hannibal’s fingers are like flames against his skin. He dreams of ash and smoke, their little church crumbling to dust. The ground where it once stood rumbles, springing open, light spilling in through the cracks.

—

The mornings Will doesn’t spend fishing, he likes to run. Across the strip of beach they call their own, sand still cool beneath his feet in the first light of day, he can feel his own strength growing with every long stride. He sprints until sweat beads down his back and his heart hammers inside his chest. He falls down on the shore, watching the waves lap against his toes.

If he holds his hand up to the light, he can almost see the blood, streaming across his skin like rays of sun cast across the ocean. A sacrament. And he can feel it, too, taking root inside his body, like a question he never thought to ask but always had the answer to. He is more himself now than he has ever been.

If he closes his eyes, the lapping of the water almost carries him back to Wolf Trap. Back to his stream. His pack running along the muddy banks and whipping around his ankles the moment his feet hit solid ground. He can see Winston’s eyes gazing up at him, soulful and shining. It should make his chest ache, but it doesn’t. Not in the way thinking of him used to. Will opens his eyes, rising to his feet, the promise of Hannibal’s embrace beckoning him home.

—

Will finds Hannibal in his study, reading in his armchair by the window. Hannibal has acquired glasses in recent days, their slim and delicate frames perched atop his nose as Will climbs into his lap.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Will says, running his fingers through the strands that reach just past Hannibal’s ears. “I like it.”

“I was thinking of cutting it.” Hannibal closes his book, placing it on the table beside them. “But I’ll let it grow if you’d prefer.”

“I don’t want to control you,” Will says. “Not like that. I like it long, but if you want to cut it—”

“Will,” Hannibal interrupts, removing his glasses and placing them atop the book. “Keeping it long would be the logical thing to do.”

“Is that why you haven’t shaved in over a week?” Will runs his fingers along Hannibal’s stubbled jaw. “The logical choice.”

“You haven’t shaved in months.” Hannibal thumbs at Will’s beard, longer now than it’s ever been.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

“I prefer you like this,” Hannibal says. “At ease with who you are.”

“You just like the beard-burn.” Will presses a kiss to the corner of Hannibal’s mouth. “Or any reminder of me left on your body.”

Hannibal hums his approval. “I need to run into town for some ingredients,” he says after a long moment of melting into Will’s touch. “Would you care to join me?”

“Yes,” Will says. “But not yet. Let’s just sit here for a while.”

—

They make their way into town after lunch, the outdoor market bustling and alive with more people than Will has ever seen in this particular place. Will wanders off to shop for lemons, the perfect excuse to practice his Spanish. Hannibal has been doing his best to help him along, but the language still feels heavy and out of place on his tongue.

When he finds Hannibal again, he’s deep in conversation with a tall, handsome man, his basket brimming with heirloom tomatoes.

“Michael,” Hannibal says as Will approaches. “I was just telling our new friend here how my husband was from America, as well. Darling, this is Marcus.”

“Hello.” Will greets him with a small wave, curving his hand around Hannibal’s arm.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Marcus says, overly-friendly and stinking of cheap cologne. “Elias was just helping me select the perfect tomatoes for my sauce. I can’t believe how many there are to choose from.” 

When Marcus laughs, he places his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. He holds it there just a moment too long, his tan fingers sliding down Hannibal’s arm as he pulls away. Will can hear the crunch of bone, feel the slim digits twist and snap beneath his grip.

“I have invited Marcus over for dinner tonight,” Hannibal says. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” Will says, gazing into Hannibal’s eyes. “I would just love to have Marcus for dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr [here](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com/post/137046364732/to-keep-the-light-from-passing-through)


End file.
